Chapter 39 #2
She tears off my belt, pops the button, and rips down my zipper to pull out my hard-on, and I whimper from her gripping my shaft.
“But I don’t need a reward,” I reply.
“Just shut up and enjoy,” she growls.
The moment her lips wrap around my length, I lose it entirely, all the resistance flung out the window because of her tantalizing, hot mouth taking me in.
Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.
I grip the table behind me, and it scoots back a couple of inches because of the sheer pressure, while I try to maintain my composure.
She’s sucking me off like I’m a lollypop, and I’ve never felt something this sinful in my entire goddamn life.
“Go on, thrust,” she mewls, rolling her tongue around.
I gleefully oblige, slipping and sliding in and out of her mouth, her tongue so fucking wet it nearly makes my eyes roll into the back of my head.
“How does it feel, Xavier?” she asks.
“Fuck, so good,” I moan, as my hand instinctively grabs her pretty face.
“Good enough to come in my mouth?”
That’s an option?
My eyes widen in shock. “You’d let me?”
“Killing makes me hungry. I want your cum.” She swipes her tongue over the tip, and goose bumps scatter all over my entire body.
This can’t be fucking happening. It feels too unreal, too perfect.
My killer lady on her knees, sucking me off because she feels like giving me the best gift I could ever wish for.
Fuck.
“Are you going to fill up my hungry mouth?” she muses.
“Oh God, please, yes,” I moan, thrusting in like a madman.
She giggles. “Good boy.”
I come undone from her approval, moaning wildly as she takes me deep, and my cum jets out like a goddamn fountain of joy.
“Damn, that was just what I needed,” she says, licking me off, before she comes back up. “Now open your mouth.”
She forcefully parts my lips with her own, my mind still reeling from the way she just got me off, while her tongue rolls around mine to share my own cum with me.
“Don’t you taste good?” she moans into my mouth, sucking it out and dribbling it right back inside.
“Fuck, yes, ma’am.”
“Then swallow it for me like a good boy,” she whispers.
And I do exactly like she demands from me, swallowing my own seed, straight from her lips.
Fuck.
I didn’t think anything would be more sinful than killing, but she … she’s the greatest sin of all, and I’d happily go to hell for her.
She smiles against my lips as she pushes my junk back into my pants and zips me back up. “Can you still walk?”
“Barely,” I groan.
She pats my shirt and straightens my back for me. “Find the energy. We still need to get out of here.”
I nod a couple of times and clear my throat to clear my brain from the sex fog.
“Yes. Of course.” I pick up the scalpel she dropped and aim it at his legs. “What do you want me to do with him? Tell me, and I’ll do it.”
“Barricade that door,” she says, pointing at a closet. “There’s nurses in there.”
I nod and pick up a chair, positioning it underneath the doorhandle so it can’t be pushed down by any means.
She pulls out her trusted old lipstick again, marking her lips before she places a peck on her victim’s cheek, then smiles. “Just one more…”
“One more what?” I mutter.
She narrows her eyes at me. “Body.”
My skin ripples, not with fright but with excitement.
One more victim.
One more to cross off her list.
“And then it’s over?” I ask.
Her nostrils flare, and I’d recognize that stern look on her face anywhere. She’s overthinking things, mulling over her options, memorizing the images of death and decay she left behind as a testament to her fury.
Something—or someone—has done something to her so grave that she needed to settle the score.
And first, I just wanted to protect her from herself, stop her from doing the wrong thing, and getting herself in more trouble.
But I realize now that she doesn’t want that from me.
Helping her means standing behind her choices, however wrong they may be, and letting her make them on her own, knowing full well the consequences are dire.
She needs this. She needs to go down those steps into hell, to make things right for her.
And accepting that is the biggest lesson I needed to learn. I must step aside and let her destruction rain.
Because loving a woman like her means letting her do what she needs to do to heal herself.
She nods. “Let’s go get cleaned up before we run.”
Atreus
I stare at the photo printed on the wall, feeling an overwhelming sense of dread.
It feels like it’s hours since my men found me tied up in the basement of the Tartarus House, even though it’s only been a couple of minutes. The moment I pressed that beeper, they came looking for me and freed me, then secured the perimeter.
No one goes in or out, except us.
And now I find myself in her playground once again.
My own goddamn face stares right back at me from that moment I stepped in front of the cameras and exposed her serial killer business to the world.
My fingers reach up to touch the paper. I don’t know what possesses me, but a part of me is almost … honored. Confused. Hurt that she … she couldn’t just be my stalker.
She had to be the wanted killer too.
I swallow.
“Sir, have a look at this,” one of my men says, pulling me out of my thoughts.
He holds up the pillow on her bed. Underneath lies a key.
I tighten my gloves and pick up the small key from under her pillow, then walk around the room to see where it would fit.
The desk in her room has several drawers, but only one of them is locked.
I push the key inside.
Click.
My heart rate shoots up, and I pull open the drawer, revealing a small, old cell phone.
Peculiar to keep this around.
I pick it up and look at the lock screen, which requires her face to unlock. But seeing as it’s an old one, I wonder …
I trawl through her bookshelf and find an old photo album, then flip through it, trying not to smile when she gets quirky with her friends, smoking, drinking, having a laugh, dancing in the club like normal people do.
But I pause at a photo of her face.
Perfection itself.
I hover the phone close to the photo and wait.
BEEP.
It worked. It fucking worked.
A wretched, evil smile forms on my face as I scroll through the phone and open app after app until I finally find what I’m looking for, hidden deep within the folders.
A hit list.